Nicola Marsh - Who Wants To Marry a Millionaire?

She’d pretended she didn’t care—had blissfully retreated to Portsea on the weekends, where she could truly be herself in a non-judgemental environment that nourished rather than criticized. But after her dad died and her relationship with her mum went pear-shaped, the insecurities her mother fed at home had festered at school, leaving her emotionally segregated from everyone.

She’d learned to shelter her emotions and present a blasé front to the world. A front that thankfully had held up in Rory Devlin’s intimidating presence and gained her an opportunity to pitch. She had complete confidence in her abilities and knew once he’d heard her presentation he’d hire her.

Besides, she thought he had a soft spot. She’d seen the shift from cool businessman to reluctantly interested when she’d mentioned her family had owned the Portsea land. Who would’ve thought the guy had a heart? It humanised him and she didn’t like that. Didn’t like how it added to his appeal. He was a means to an end, nothing more.

The fact she hadn’t been on a date in months had to be the reason she’d noticed how his eyes reminded her of a Santorini sky, how his lips would tempt a nun to fantasise.

When they’d shaken hands her fingers had tingled with the residual zap, making her wonder what he’d do with those strong, masterful hands in the throes of passion.

Not good to be thinking along those lines. Not good at all.

She loved her job, threw herself into it one hundred percent, but moving from place to place had consequences: she didn’t have time to form attachments to any guy.

If she were completely honest, she didn’t have the inclination either. She socialised—dinner, drinks, the occasional movie—but no one had captured her attention for longer than a few dates. Leading a transient life suited her. Moving on to the next job site gave her the perfect excuse to not get emotionally involved.

Garett, her regular date for functions in London, had accused her of being deliberately detached, of putting up barriers against a deeper relationship. Probably true. She’d switched to a new date for the next business dinner.

She’d mulled over her reluctance to pursue a long-term relationship at length, and while it suited her to blame her work, she knew deep down she wanted what her mum had had: the complete love of a man who adored and one hundred percent accepted you.

Her dad had been patient, kind, generous with his time and affection, and completely non-judgemental. He had been the one person who truly understood her, and once he’d died her mum’s rejection had only served to increase her feelings of being an outcast.

The emotional walls she’d erected had been deliberate, a coping mechanism at the time, but they’d become such an ingrained part of her she didn’t know how to lower them. Or didn’t want to.

Letting a guy get too close, opening herself up to possible rejection again? Uh-uh. She might be many things, but a masochist wasn’t one of them. Better to push them away before they shut her out. She’d learned that the hard way.

She had a brilliant job she adored, a freedom envied by her married colleagues, and the ocean—a place she could immerse and lose herself anywhere in the world. Why risk all that? No guy was worth it, not in her experience.

That buzz she’d experienced when Rory had shaken her hand? Nothing more than static from the posh rug in his office.

She bumped into a businessman, who shot her a filthy glare, and she apologised, sidestepped and picked up the pace, obliterating thoughts of a handsome millionaire—the least likely guy she’d be attracted to.

Rory stood on the crest and surveyed the endless indigo ocean stretching to the horizon.

Gemma’s place.

That was how he’d started thinking of this stretch of beach, and he shook his head. He didn’t have room for sentimentality in his life, and certainly not in his business, but there was something about her never-say-die attitude in regards to this land that plucked at his heartstrings.

She’d gone to extreme lengths to gain his attention, and while he didn’t approve of her methods he couldn’t fault her enthusiasm. This place meant a lot to her. He’d granted her request to provide him with assessment findings to humour her, but he had to admit he was curious. Curious about her scientific skills, curious about her work ethic, and curious about what she’d do once he vetoed her findings.

The project was ready to go, excavation set to commence in a month, and he had every intention of getting it done on time. Houses were sold, shareholders had invested, sub-contractors had been hired. Amendments were doable at this stage, but anything else she might come up with? Pie-in-the-sky dreams.

A gunshot made him jump and he whirled around, squinting at the road where it had come from. When a dented pale blue VW rolled over the hill, and backfired again before pulling up next to his Merc in a cloud of dust, he stifled a grin.

Of course she’d drive a beat-up old banger; though how environmentally safe a car like that was remained debatable.

She tumbled out of the car, all long denim-clad legs and red jumper, a gaudy floral scarf fluttering in the wind and her plait unravelling as she hurried towards him.

‘Sorry I’m late.’

He jerked a thumb in the direction of the vehicle. ‘Car trouble?’

‘How’d you guess?’

‘That thing belongs in a museum. Where’d you get it? Rent-a-Bomb?’

She blushed.

‘You know the emissions from that can’t be good for the environment?’

It was like waving a chainsaw in front of a greenie.

She squared her shoulders, her eyes flashing blue fire. ‘Considering some of us aren’t flush with funds like other people—’ her scathing glare encompassed him and the Merc ‘—we make do with what we’ve got.’

He opened his mouth to respond and she held up a finger.

‘As it so happens, they had nothing else available. Once I know how long I’m in town for I’ll be chasing up something more suitable. Satisfied?’

‘Immensely.’

Her eyes narrowed at his tongue-in-cheek response, but before she could flay him again he gestured to the land.

‘How long since you’ve been here?’

‘Five years.’

Her wistful sigh cut through his distraction.

‘That’s a long time to stay away from home.’

She angled her head away from him, but not before he’d glimpsed fleeting pain.

‘Work keeps me pretty busy.’

‘Same here.’

He knew exactly how many years she’d worked overseas, but hearing her audible regret only exacerbated his curiosity. If she loved her job so much, her regret must be personal. He’d bet some jerk had done a number on her.

‘Melbourne doesn’t hold good memories for you?’

She reared back as if he’d poked her in the eye. ‘What makes you think that?’

‘Your time spent away, your defensiveness.’

He expected her to clam up. So of course she did the opposite, surprising him yet again.

‘There’s nothing much left for me here any more.’

She sank onto a nearby log, resting her elbows on her knees, her chin on her hands. He eyed the log warily and she raised an eyebrow at his pause.

‘No bull-ants, no spiders—nothing to bite your butt.’

She blushed again, the faint pink staining her cheeks highlighting the blueness of her eyes, making him forget his five-thousand-dollar suit as he sat just to be close to her.

‘Bad break-up?’

She shook her head, the addictive fragrance of spring mornings and sunshine he’d smelt when they’d first met wafting over him.

‘Uh-uh. I just don’t fit in here.’

‘What about family?’

‘My mum lives in South Yarra. We catch up occasionally. It’s been five years since I’ve been to the beach here, but I made a flying visit to Melbourne two years ago and saw Mum then.’